


Hammer To Fall

by Background_Foxe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Drinking to Cope, Drunk Sex, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: Dean steps up his use of alcohol as an emotional crutch after Bobby’s death. Sam attempts an intervention, only to discover that Dean has an alternative desperate suggestion to make in order to distract himself from his current painFulfilling Quote Prompt Memes request ‘A Man Takes A Drink’
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 129
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	Hammer To Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "A man takes a drink  
> A drink takes a drink  
> The drink takes the man"
> 
> All fandoms welcome  
> Tags: Heavy Angst, Drinking to Cope, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drunk Sex, Sickfic

*

It was ten am. The sun was shining, the occasional car could be heard passing from the street outside, and a couple of industrial birds had decided to give tweeting a try. Sam himself had taken a short couple of mile run and had come back with some pastries, still warm from the bakery, that he reckoned would probably do for a Dean breakfast. And Dean? Dean was already on his fourth glass of whisky and seemed in no mood to stop.

“Dean. What the fuck?” The pastries were dumped on the table next to the laptop with no real care to their survival rate. 

Dean cast him a bored look and then glanced back at the screen, waving the glass toward it as though Sam might need directions on what he was supposed to be looking at. Only Sam had absolutely no doubt what he should be looking at, and it was his tattered and unkempt brother who was sprawled in the chair as though he expected it to recline. 

Sam growled softly. Sure, Dean had always had a firm relationship with the bottle even at a younger age, which had only progressed as time went on. And this hadn’t been the first time Sam’d found him drinking at off times but he’d been giving Dean some slack ever since Bobby died. People grieved in different ways, and his brother was never going to be the type who would do it in a traditional fashion. A drink here and there, sure, that was natural. Only the gaps were now shrinking significantly between said drinks until it was one glorious bender mixed in with small bouts of unconsciousness that posed as ‘sleep’. 

Yeah, Dean looked like shit and Sam was pretty sure his brother was waiting for him to get so annoyed by it that they could have the fight that Dean was clearly so desperate to have.

And fuck that. 

“Looks like there’s a couple of abandoned houses in the victim’s area.” Dean drawled. His voice wasn’t quite slurred but it certainly wasn’t crisp, Dean’s alcoholic history only saving him in part from disguising his current condition. The glass waved again, a little too strongly, but the liquid was too low to escape. Sam studied the glass and then turned his glare back onto Dean who was determined to ignore it.

“There’s one that looks promisin’,” Dean carried on. “Still got roof, services, that type of thing. Others are pretty battered. We can go out there and have a look around, see what comes up.”

Still silence from Sam, his jaw tight. Finally Dean put the glass down, leaned back even further in his chair - which was a remarkable feat, given the circumstances - and then finally met Sam’s stare with a defiant one of his own.

“What?” The one word had so much aggressive challenge that it could start the next world war. 

“You’re drinking.”

“Observation skills always amazing, Sammy. Gold star for you.” Dean’s voice grew even more sarcastic. “Good job.”

“It’s not even eleven, Dean.”

“And you can tell the time too! Wow, that college education, can’t beat it.” Dean stared at him and slowly, deliberately, drained the rest of the drink before slamming the glass onto the table. “I choose what I want to do. And currently? I want a drink.”

The grab toward the bottle was foiled by Sam stepping forward and taking hold of it swiftly, moving back away from Dean’s immediate area. Dean’s dark scowl managed to get darker, pushing himself forward from the chair as he glared at Sam without any mask whatsoever.

“Give the damned bottle back, _now_ , or so help me god-,”

“You’ll what, Dean?” Sam took another step back, and at one point he might have been surprised at the sheer look of murder in his brother’s eyes but not anymore. “Punch me? Stab me? Way you are, I’d be impressed if you can even walk properly.”

Although that wasn’t quite true. Dean had worked hard on getting to the stage where he was a functioning drunk; his mind might be completely off in its own world but his body knew damned well what it was supposed to be doing, whether that be dodging or throwing an accurate hard punch. What he was throwing a punch against sorted itself out in the cold light of morning, or rather, sobriety. 

On the other hand, Dean’s body didn’t normally have to untangle itself from a chair before moving, and Sam took the opportunity to march toward the bathroom whilst untwisting the cap from the bottle. Dean worked out what was happening pretty damned quickly, but by the time he’d managed to dart into the bathroom the vast majority of the alcohol had already made its way down the sink and Dean didn’t bother trying to save the last dredges. No, he’d gone straight for a hook to Sam’s left cheekbone and it was only down to a very swift dodge backward that it missed.

The bottle itself fell, smashing against the sink and spraying shards of glass and whatever was left across the floor. Neither of them bothered to look at it as Sam squared up to the furious form of his brother, slowly moving them out of the bathroom and into the slightly larger space of the bedroom.

Or at least that had been the plan, anyway. Dean waited for a second and then went off like a claymore mine, aiming hard punches and jabs Sam’s way and clearly not caring about getting hit back as he got so close to Sam’s space that he could smell the alcohol on his breath. Two hits caught him sharply, one in the ribs and another to the jaw, but Sam had already decided that playing nice wasn’t happening; he’d weaved to one side and waited for a decent opening before firing off a couple of punches of his own, one to the stomach that was seemingly soaked up by the drink but another one nicely connecting to Dean’s cheek and knocking him down. 

Not down enough, of course. Dean snarled, a primal noise that could have come from any werewolf, pushing himself back up into the fight and flinging himself at Sam’s midsection to propel them through the doorway and land them heavily onto the carpet. Sam took the brunt of that, briefly stunned from the air being knocked from his body, before having to lift his arm up to protect against a couple of extra blows that Dean aimed at him.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. Fuck this. If Dean wanted a fight he was going to get it.

The drink helped his cause, of course. Sam had fought Dean in training and other brotherly arguments for so damned long now that he knew his brother’s style, able to read his next move, and he waited for a second for Dean to commit to the next movement before putting his full weight and strength into dislodging his brother. For the next few minutes they merely fought, punches, dodges, jabs, the occasional hard right cross that thankfully often failed to meet its intended target, and it wasn’t too long before Dean began to tire. 

To be fair, Sam wasn’t in the best state himself. Stumbling up, Sam took hold of Dean’s shirt in both fists and all but threw his brother onto the nearest bed hard. There was blood everywhere from some cut that one of them had picked up somewhere, although the bleeder could easily have been either of them; Sam could feel the stinging bruises on his own body just as he could see his own handiwork showing up brightly on his brother’s stubbled face, ripped clothing and split lip. Yeah, they were a mess.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, out of breath and trembling as Sam tried to recover his patience. That was a very long recovery. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re trying to achieve here, Dean?” his voice was low, the anger he’d felt for so long simply bubbling up to the surface. “He’s gone. This isn’t going to help and you damned well know that. You weren’t the only one to lose him,”

Dean scoffed but didn’t bother to get up and didn’t offer any other words, his eyes hostile but with the beginnings of upset that Sam was strangely relieved to see. It had been weeks and as far as he could tell Dean had only bottled his actual feelings up, not talking about them, not acknowledging them, just taking his already existing need with alcohol and finding a new route out regardless of where it took him.

Of course it was Dean, and nothing was ever simple. 

“Hey,” his voice was rougher than usual, still faintly out of breath. “Y’don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Sam folded his arms. “Watch me.”

Dean merely huffed another laugh that had nothing to do with humour and began to push himself off the bed. Oh, no fucking chance. Sam stepped forward and shoved him down again hard, followed by straddling his brother’s hips and seizing both wrists to slam them down firmly above Dean’s head. Strangely, Dean didn’t seem to fight much on this, simply snarling briefly before giving him a mocking half smile as Sam pinned him.

“This make you feel any better, Sammy?” Dean drawled, although the words were still hazy. “Make you feel in charge?”

“I don’t _want_ to be in charge.” Sam snarled through gritted teeth. “We’re a team, remember? But that doesn’t mean you get to fuck yourself up.”

Dean attempted to adjust his position on the bed and found Sam’s weight unrelenting. A sulky expression briefly entered into Dean’s eyes before he hid that once again with sarcasm. 

“Can’t keep me here forever. At some point you have to let me go.”

“I have handcuffs. Wait you out until you’re sober.” Sam said steadily, but he had no idea whether the words were even registering other than the one or two that Dean picked up on.

“I’m fucking sober _now_.”

“Bullshit.” Sam shoved more weight onto Dean’s wrists, seeing his brother flinch from the discomfort and a warier look enter his eyes at the fierceness in Sam’s voice. “You’re killing yourself. Out of what, guilt? Because it’s always guilt with you, isn’t it Dean.”

“Fuck off,” Dean spat back and tried to kick but Sam had already worked that next move and simply rode it out. Finally Dean flopped back onto the bed, panting softly, and glared at his younger brother. 

“And fuck you too,” Sam snapped back. “I’m not your keeper! If you want help, if you want something, just _ask_ for it. This is passive aggressive shit and you damn well know it!”

Dean snorted a laugh at that. “Sure, help by _getting the fuck off me!_ ” 

The last few words were growled so intensely that tigers would be impressed. Sam growled back. Not what he meant. He was about to give up and simply keep kicking his ass until Dean might get the message - doubtful, but would at least resolve some of his frustrations - when his brother growled again and finally shifted his gaze away.

Sam waited. That was normally a damned good sign that Dean had got over his immediate anger, and sure enough the next growl was softer. Not massively so of course, but at least it suggested that Dean was planning to rip out a kidney rather than his liver which at least was a step up.

“So, what?” Dean said finally, looking back at him with a half weary, half defiant look. “Is there some big plan you had going on, or are y’gonna make shit up as you go along?”

A good question, but one he didn’t have to admit to. Dean’s expression grew sly, a cocky grin creeping into the corner of his mouth.

“Make shit up it is. Guess you’re just gonna have to find some way to distract me from the mean old nasty drink, huh?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed a little further suspiciously. His brother’s mind was much like god; moved in a mysterious way and normally caused ridiculous amounts of damage in quite frankly confusing manners, and he didn’t trust that little cocky drunken smile an inch.

“You had a suggestion?” he said carefully.

“Sure. ‘M a little drunk, we’re both hot and sweaty, and we’re on a bed.” The smile grew a little more, and Sam frowned harder at that. He was about to clarify when Dean clearly decided that words weren’t working for him and pushed himself up as much as possible to clear the distance between them, landing a messy kiss on Sam’s mouth before he was reclaimed by gravity and flopped back onto the bed. 

For a moment everything was perfectly still as he tried to work out what the fuck just happened. 

…. Really? _That_ was Dean’s plan? But was this even surprising, in a way? Dean had always self medicated with either drink or sex or both, and the only real reason why the drugs hadn’t made an appearance was their day job would probably kill them if they had a few hours where they were completely switched off from reality.

And of course it wasn’t as though they hadn’t had intimate moments in the past, hot, secret ones in the middle of the night and when people weren’t looking, but no, they weren’t supposed to talk about that.

Or at least they hadn’t, anyway. The look Dean was aiming at him was challenging, clearly expecting a battle, and clearly serious for the proposal.

“C’mon, Sammy.” the words were clearly slurred at the edges, but Dean seemed determined. “You gonna be boss? Then _do_ something.”

And by the way he pushed his hips upward, blatantly ‘something’ was the hard, frisky type of something, and fuck, this was very, very wrong, and sure, they’d technically done this type of thing in the past but Dean had refused to discuss it for years. Sex? Really bad idea, and it didn’t matter if Dean was busy trying to grind against him, he was drunk and it was Sam’s responsibility to pull him out of whatever the fuck this was. 

“Hey. Whoa. C’mon.” He had no idea how to handle this, and Sam was conscious that an element of desperation had crept into his own voice. 

In his confusion his hand slipped from one of Dean’s wrists and his brother pounced on this weakness, immediately grabbing hold of Sam’s shirt and pulling him down so they were bare millimeters away from each other, every little fleck and flash in Dean’s eyes was magnified, and Sam became away that the blood over everything was clearly from a cut on Dean’s hand as the blood slowly soaked through the fabric of his shirt. 

“I mean it, Sammy,” Dean whispered, a soft drunken whisper that no longer sounded quite as angry as it did sad, his eyes scanning Sam’s with a desperate longing that was so hard to ignore, a hungry victorian child staring in through the glass at a restaurant. “ _Do something_.”

“You’re too drunk-,” Sam wasn’t even going to bother with the whole incest argument but Dean’s mouth met his again, a messy, lopsided kiss that was more need than accuracy, and Dean’s battered hand released Sam’s shirt in order to slide around his back and pull him even closer.

“Please,” the whisper continued, Dean’s voice deep and rough and clearly hating to beg but finding no other choice. “I don’t want to think,”

But that was yet another really poor reason to suddenly have sex, and Sam growled softly in frustration and uncertainty. Of course technically there wasn’t really anything to be uncertain about, this wasn’t happening, didn’t matter about the hand over his back or the way Dean was deliberately pressing against Sam’s groin or the fact Sam had been thinking on this for damned years ever since their original fumble around in the darkness under the bridge one evening. But his own need was almost immaterial, it was the pleading, drunken, little boy look that his brother was giving him and Sam felt any words dry up in his throat. 

Dean lifted up again and the kiss was a little more controlled, lighter, Sam moving instinctively and feeling his brother’s tongue enter his mouth as they deepened the kiss. The taste of alcohol was so damned clear, the little noises that his brother made that were only around when he’d been drinking and Sam had a suspicion that the four shots were only the start of the story, and yet the desperation was still so strong he couldn’t let him go. 

“We shouldn’t.” Sam’s words were soft, apologetic and reluctant but honest. This was torture, and fuck Dean for putting him in this position in the first damned place. If they were sober he’d be the first to strip off, but oh no, apparently Dean couldn’t possibly have come to a decision without an alcoholic crutch. Infuriating.

Infuriating and vulnerable. The pained look in his brother’s eyes was as though Sam had shoved a knife in his chest personally, and Sam immediately kissed him again, deeper this time, as both a way to kill the conversation and to indicate as much as humanly possible that this wasn’t so much a rejection as a pause button.

Didn’t work though. Dean shifted underneath him again, his hands - as beaten and bloody as they apparently were - still sliding over Sam in exploration, and Sam found his own doing just the same. He’d given up holding him down but Dean seemed in no hurry to go anywhere, a soft hungry noise in the back of his throat as he worked. 

“Need you,” Dean breathed. “Need it now. Need to feel you.”

This was not helping his general sense of calm. Sam growled and closed his eyes, trying to focus. Since when did he have to become the adult in the equation? 

“I need you too,” he murmured back. “But _we can’t_.”

Dean chuckled breathlessly, nipping at Sam’s neck with his teeth before releasing him. “Fuck ‘can’t. They always say we can’t. We can. We will. _Now_.”

“No.” Sam replied softly but he wasn’t even convincing himself anymore. 

“Sammy, fuck me. Shove your cock into me and your hand on my throat and fuck me until I scream.” Dean’s whisper was managing to be both pleading and demanding at the same time, and fuck, that was one of the best images he’d never allowed himself to have. Sam growled helplessly and re-seized one of Dean’s hands, forcing it over his head again roughly and opening his eyes to stare at his brother determinedly.

“You’re drunk.”

“And I’m damned, and so are you. We’re fucked already, Sammy. For once, _just once_ , let’s have some pleasure out of it rather than pain, yeah?” Dean’s determination was showing through, and that was fine, he could have fought that to a certain extent, but this wasn’t just determination, the pain was solid and the desperate request for help was so loud it was deafening.

“This isn’t fair,” Sam said wretchedly. 

“Nothing’s fair! Bobby’s dead, Mom’s dead, Dad’s dead, everyone who fucking _meets_ us dies and it’s just us!” Dean’s voice took on more urgency and almost anger. “Sam, _please_. I need you. Just tonight. Shout at me tomorrow.”

No point in mentioning the fact that now wasn’t even afternoon. Sam fell silent, his hand curled around Dean’s wrist again, Dean’s hand across his back, and their mouths so damned close that it would be indecent at the best of times. There was a tired sleepiness to Dean’s eyes that just made his plea more difficult to ignore, but the fire that was his brother was still blazing away.

“Fuck me.” Dean had worked out the words were doing things to Sam’s insides that were definitely not family friendly, his words whispered hard, urgently, needing his response. “C’mon Sammy, need you. Need you in me. Want you to-”,

Sam’s hand shakily covered Dean’s mouth, causing the last word to become muffled. Still didn’t stop the silent messages from Dean’s gaze, and Sam sighed as he released the hold again. Fuck, he was doomed.

“Sam. You say you want to help me. _Then help me_. Not what you think I need.”

“This is my body as well.” Sam countered angrily.

“And you want me, I know you do.” Dean pressed against Sam’s groin again, and there was no mistaking that hardness, nor the little hiss from his lips as the pleasure zapped through his body. Sam scowled at him, still torn.

“Sam. I ain’t gonna plead with you any more. But remember, it is us. It’s always just been us. Everyone else, all just passing shadows in the dark. Well, other than Bobby, and now he’s dead. Ain’t coming back.” Dean’s voice shook but it was still just as determined, just as fierce. “Please.”

Sam stared at him a little longer. If only Dean hadn’t been damned drunk. All the words, all the sentiments, he’d been waiting for this for so damned long, and there was still a good chance that in six hours time or however long it would be before Dean woke up that he would be the only one to properly remember these moments. Dean always maintained he remembered everything, but there were fuzzy aspects around the edges. Would he be happy with this or would he immediately withdraw like he had a few years back, claiming that weird shit happened and not to dwell on it that closely? 

Dean had been watching the indecision flicker through his eyes, a nervous anticipation that was so very rare in his brother, the vulnerabilities so close to the surface without being hidden by his public mask of sarcastic indifference. Sam didn’t know quite when he made his decision but his brother did, the soft reluctant acceptance slowly easing into his body, and the warm, delighted, lopsided smile that suddenly brightened Dean’s face was beautiful to watch. 

Another kiss, hard, messy, needy. 

“Won’t regret this.” Dean mumbled. Sam doubted it, but what could he do? It was Dean. If it wasn’t drink then sex was definitely another path, one that was less likely to kill him, and yet there was a worry he was just a sticking plaster. 

Removing clothes discovered a few more battered spots, bruises that had darkened in the meantime, a few sliced cuts on their arms and legs from where they had pressed against bottle shards during their fight and the sharpness had simply sunk into their flesh without them noticing. Dean had fumbled with his own jeans and Sam had pulled them off instead, dumping them to the side and staring down at his brother’s taut stomach and ridiculously hard erection. No question Dean was eager, and he was unsurprised to find that Dean wasn’t one of those affected by too much alcohol. No, most of Dean’s conquests seemed to be during the bar time hours, his groin was fully on board with what it needed to do.

Didn’t take any time at all for Dean to slide into a decent position to be fucked, turning onto his side and placing his blood stained hands on the mattress before fixing Sam a look as he arched his back and widened his legs, and fuck, that was definitely indecent. It was also completely unprepared, as assholes went. Sam sucked on his own thumb briefly before trailing it down Dean’s spine and then slowly, carefully, pressing it deep into the heat of his brother’s body. His brother’s moan of need and sensation almost made him come immediately.

“You sure?” Sam breathed.

“You ask me if I’m sure again and m’gonna break your nose,”

He was taking that as a yes. Huffing a small laugh, he slowly began to move the thumb, carefully at first given how tight his brother was around it but growing in strength as Dean grew used to it and began to push back harder. Impatient bastard at the best of times. 

The position allowed him to nuzzle against Dean’s neck as he worked, feeling the noises more through vibration than noise, and that seemed to work well for the squirming Dean as well who was happily pressing back against him. 

“Just fuck me. C’mon. _Now_ ,” Dean was no longer in a whispering mood, his still slightly slurred speech loud in the room in a demand. Sam was about to object, point out that despite best efforts the prep work wasn’t done, but Dean was not about to stay put. Sam tried to keep him steady as best he could, needing to remove the thumb just to have the ability to roll him onto his stomach a little bit for fear that Dean might actually succeed in his goal of getting impaled. 

This did not go down well. Dean snarled softly and tried to flip over, clearly intent on pinning Sam onto the bed and riding him that way. Sam pushed him down again. Oh, no. It was bad enough that his brother was lubricated in completely the wrong way as it was, let alone allowing him to be in charge of how they did this. Leave it to Dean and they’d be in ER by sundown. 

“I never really thought about what fucking an annoyed wolverine would be like, but now I know.” Sam pressed him down a little further. “ _Stop fighting_.”

“Which part of _now_ don’t you understand?!”

He was determined, Sam gave him that. He was also a pain in the ass, and he would have shouted at him a little harder had he not seen the urgent look on Dean’s face that suggested that one of the main reasons he was pushing for speed was to reduce the chance that Sam might change his mind in the meantime. Sam firmly pinned him a little more.

“I’m not going anywhere. _Calm down_.”

There was a drunken mutter from Dean that had some type of insult involved in it, but that was general standard purpose Dean. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and nuzzled into his brother’s neck again, feeling Dean relax against him at the touch.

“You don’t calm down then this is going to hurt,”

“Good,” Dean muttered, but refused to repeat it when Sam growled at him. Instead he merely waggled his ass, and aimed a reproachful look at Sam. Oh, fuck this, he was after risk mitigation. 

“Stay there,” he jabbed a finger at the bed and moved off to locate something that could be utilised as lube. A few minutes later and he had discovered an abandoned, mostly used up bottle in the bottom of his bag for an old injury he seemed to recall having. Didn’t matter. If it was slippery and not going to hurt them then it was game, and Sam had already smeared it over himself as he walked back, knowing that the time Dean would give him to get ready was probably on negative figures. 

He was conscious of Dean’s gaze on him as he returned to the bed, still sulky, still slightly off from the drink, but with a wary-worried look that suggested that his brother hadn’t been too sure whether he’d scared him off. A few drunken kisses had been offered to him as soon as Sam sank back on the bed, like a dog welcoming his owner home, and he gently pulled Dean into a hug.

“I promised you, I’m not going anywhere.” he murmured. “You’re good.”

And from that it was relatively easy to ease him into a better position, Dean on his stomach and eagerly trying to line up which in his drunken state wasn’t going as well as he could have hoped for. Sam allowed him a few moments before taking himself in hand and carefully lining up, one hand on Dean’s hip in an attempt to keep the target from moving. He might be cooperative but sometimes Dean’s ‘help’ ended up with a completely different result.

Thankfully this was not one of those times. Sam felt the tight resistance for a moment as the tense ring of Dean’s body fought back against the invasion, before gradually easing into the tight heat with a soft sigh of sensation. Dean himself was still silent, his head bowed and his body strained, but every little movement and every twinge seemed to radiate to the ache that was Sam’s cock. Silence wasn’t quite right either; sure, Dean wasn’t saying a word, but his breathing was already quick and ragged, the occasional soft murmur deep in his throat as Sam shifted his weight.

“Also not gonna move until you make me believe you’re okay,” Sam murmured softly. There was a soft, broken laugh at that.

“Make you believe?” Dean’s voice was definitely strained, but Sam felt this was fair enough considering what was currently plugged. “What, like Tinkerbell?”

Sam huffed a soft laugh. “If you want.”

“Me and fairies don’t get on.”

“I noticed.” Sam circled his hips idly, happy to offer Dean an excuse not to move straight to thrust. Knowing his brother, Dean would do it regardless of whether it was a good idea, and Sam was pretty sure it was a damned horrible idea until Dean’s body had accepted its current predicament. There was a soft, glorious groan from his brother as the pleasure-pain rippled through him, a soft moan of longing not quite hidden.

Finally, Dean slowly moved his weight and offered a low groan that vibrated through Sam’s body.

“Y’just gonna sit there all day?” The complaint was tossed back. Sam smiled to himself ruefully and slowly drew his hips back, allowing his cock to slide back out until the tip rested oh so carefully inside him before pushing forward again. Bit easier but still stubbornly tight, and Sam deliberately paused again to allow Dean’s body to ease against him. Another thrust, careful and slow, back and forth and only beginning to pick up speed when the movement began to feel freer. Dean, of course, was not a fan of patience and softly swore under his breath about brothers who couldn’t do a simple thing and just fuck him.

Still, Dean was in luck. Didn’t take that long before the movements were stronger and quicker, feeling Dean work with him as his brother acknowledged the fact that complaining wasn’t getting him anywhere, and Sam could feel the growing response in his brother as movements turned very firmly to pleasure rather than caution.

“Harder, Sammy,” Dean growled, his voice so deep it was hard to make out the words in the rumble, and Sam chuckled to himself. Okay, perhaps, and he attempted a couple of new thrusts deep enough to cut off Dean’s ability to make words. 

The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted in a grin. Yeah. Much better.

And it was now safe enough to really get a rhythm going. Just as well, really. Patience was a virtue, but managing to be both essential and agonising at the same time. Every thrust, every gasp, every vibration was an added torment to the heat building up in the core of him, and the soft whines from Dean as each thrust hit was beautiful.

And if he carried on like this he’d be done in no time at all.

Sam’s hand reached around to stroke his brother in time, reveling in each little gasp and cry as he continued to fuck him as deep as he dared. It was never deep enough, of course, but right at this point with his body on its tipping point and his mind driven insane by his brother’s movements and noises and scent and curses, Sam was pretty sure he didn’t care.

His orgasm when it came was hard, intense and far too sudden. He had been going so damned well too but Sam hadn’t realised the particularly sensitive spot on Dean’s cock. A casual stroke had resulted in Dean giving out a cry and shifting his hips, only to ensure that the next thrust hit the little bundle of nerves of his prostate. No force on earth would have saved Sam from the way Dean’s body suddenly gripped down on him during his own release, and this was definitely something he never wanted to be saved from. 

For several moments there was silence in the room, their panting the only noise as both tried desperately to recover. Sam’s forehead was pressed to Dean’s shoulder, staying in place with his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist until the shuddering had died down enough for the rest of reality to come back into sight. Sam drew in a shaky breath and lifted his head, slowly pulling Dean into a large, warm hug as he did so.

There was no noise from Dean at all, his brother curled up, face all but buried in the mattress. The only sign of life was a little shudder that was working its way through Dean’s form, and that really wasn’t great for his paranoia. Sam hugged him a little tighter, and gently nuzzled his shoulder.

“Hey. You doing okay?” it was the soft whisper they used as kids whenever he was trying to work out how upset Dean had got after a shouting at from their father. Still nothing. The little shudders told him that Dean was conscious, which was a definite plus, but no further hints. 

Fuck, what was he saying. Dean being silent was a massive hint on the Not Doing Well list. Sam bit his lip anxiously. Shit, had he hurt him? He knew Dean hadn’t been ready for this, despite his protests. 

“S’okay. I got you.” he had no idea what words would help so he tried a selection, just in case. The shuddering had slowly eased but Dean was still curled up, and Sam was about to say more words just in case when he was conscious of his brother’s hand moving to rest over his own. Oh. Okay, then. He could cope with that. 

Pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s shoulder, Sam gently wrapped himself further around his brother and thought protective thoughts. Ten minutes later and Dean still hadn’t stirred, and Sam was fighting sleep himself until he felt a shift underneath him.

“Dean?” he tried.

“Mm.” It wasn’t much, a grunt rather than a word, but it was progress. Sam almost sagged in relief. 

“Good. Was worried you’d died on me,” another little nuzzle of Dean’s shoulder, Sam’s voice still gentle. Dean snorted softly, but with the unevenness that suggested he had definitely been upset.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Dean moved again, then hissed softly. “I need a shower.”

Didn’t actually move anywhere, although Sam was thankful for that. The warmth of his brother had addictive qualities, and besides which he was still uncertain whether Dean could be trusted in a shower. He could still smell the alcohol, and Sam felt another protective stab run through him at that. This couldn’t go on.

Apparently Dean was thinking something similar, as there was another heavy sigh.

“M’sorry, Sammy.”

Sam genuinely didn’t know for which bit, and that was a problem. He pressed a small kiss on Dean’s shoulder in what he hoped was a forgiving way, but then was that fair? Some of this wasn’t getting forgiven, the alcohol had to go, but it felt wrong to kick him when he was already clearly down.

“It’ll be okay, Dean.” he soothed, taking the cowards way out. There was another shaky laugh.

“Sure. Why not. Everything is peachy keen.” there was a bitter tone in his voice and Sam frowned at him. Not promising.

“Whatever’s going through your brain, you’re gonna have to stop,” he warned. “This is breaking you.”

“And perhaps I like being broken.”

“You’re better than this, Dean.” Sam warned softly.

“Oh, I’m really not.” there was another rough, broken snort of something approaching humour before Dean buried himself further into the mattress. “Got to do the things you need to survive, Sammy. This is mine.”

“Killing yourself through drink?” Sam countered angrily.

“Yeah. That and fucking myself to death. Doing well on both accounts so far,” 

“And would Bobby have wanted you to give up?”

“Does it matter? He’s dead. Bones are burned. Gone. And I appreciate the attempt to become some weird version of a father figure, Sam, but given you’re my baby brother it’s kinda creepy.”

“Family look out for each other, and if that means smacking you across the back of the head once in a while then I’m all for it.” Sam’s arm tightened across him again, the protective movement lessening the impact a little. “I mean it, Dean. I need you whole. You’re the only family I have left.”

Silence from his battered brother. Sam growled softly and rested his forehead against Dean’s shoulder again, closing his eyes and just feeling the presence of his brother relax him. 

“Please.” Sam murmured. 

Dean growled softly but left it at that. And Sam knew how this would end up. Probably a casual apology tossed out as carelessly as he could, further jokey comments to pretend nothing was the matter and any issues were blips, half irritable assurances that he was ‘fine’, and Dean would continue to brood in the dark, safe away from prying eyes. 

Sam closed his eyes wearily. Oh no, the dark wasn’t going anywhere. And with it came the drink.

In the end, all he could hope to do was distract him.

END


End file.
